


One Free Pass

by Wineabout



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Discussion of Consensual Infidelity, Dont you dare even suggest that Peter Hale is middle Aged, Drinking, Established Relationship, I Wrote This By Accident, M/M, Peter has great ideas, Peter is not middle aged, Sexual References, Stiles is 21, Stiles rebels against cardigan wearing domesticity, college party, idk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27470716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wineabout/pseuds/Wineabout
Summary: “Why don’t I go to parties?” Stiles scowls, turning off his phone screen and setting it on his chest.“You don’t like them.”“That’s not true - I live to party. I am a party animal!”---Stiles laments he's aging before his time - Peter offers a solution.One night. One party. No questions asked.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 11
Kudos: 126





	One Free Pass

**Author's Note:**

> This was an experimental drabbe of an idea that made me laugh tbh.

## Saturday 10:15 PM

Stiles yawns, shifting his feet from the area rug under Peter’s couch up into the wolf’s lap. His feet wiggle until a warm hand is clasping them and kneading into his right sole. 

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Peter asks, shifting his gaze up from a leather bound book that isn’t in english. He raises a brow but his eyes never quite make it to Stiles before they’re drawn back to his page.  
  
“You know it’s Saturday night,” Stiles prompts. 

Peter grunts, turning his page with a quiet fwip before his shoulders shift. 

Stiles tilts his head back onto the arm rest and sighs deeply, it’s not that he doesn’t like their life - he’d never expected to get something this normal. He likes their domestic comfort. “I’ll pick something,” Stiles offers as he grabs for the remote. 

He pauses going through the documentary menu when his phone chimes and he shifts his attention to opening a snapchat message from Erica. It’s a video. The bass and screaming startle him and Peter both into jumping out of their skin on the couch as he scrambles to turn the volume down. 

Erica looks like she’s having a good time, she’s holding a drink and shoving Boyd’s face into her chest as she blows kisses into her camera. After that she sends a video panning over a crowded house where everyone is screaming to Queen. 

“Why don’t I go to parties?” Stiles scowls, turning off his phone screen and setting it on his chest. 

“You don’t like them.”

“That’s not true - I live to party. I am a party animal!” 

“Mm,” Peter turns a page and digs his thumb up against Stiles’ sock covered toes. 

Stiles huffs, picking up the remote again and glaring at the screen before he smacks the remote back onto their coffee table. 

“I’m twenty one!”

“I’m aware,” Peter doesn’t look up as Stiles rises from the sofa. 

“I’m in my prime! My party prime!” Stiles flails a hand at Peter and then pauses to wilt as he takes stock of himself. He’s wearing fuzzy socks. And sweatpants. He’s swamped in a cardigan - it’s not even Peter’s. It’s one he bought himself. 

There’s a cup of decaf coffee in front of him on a coaster because he doesn’t drink caffeine after six anymore. 

“Oh my god, you’re making me middle aged with you,” Stiles accuses. He startles when Peter snaps his book shut. 

“I am not middle aged,” Peter’s eyes are sharp and dangerous as he looks up at Stiles. “And I’m not making you anything.” 

Stiles flaps his cardigan at him and points to the near identical one Peter’s wearing before he waves even more pointedly at the television and their matching mugs. “It’s _Saturday night_.” 

“Are you having a quarter life crisis?” Peter asks, his voice low and condescending. Sarcastic as he rolls his eyes and sits up with his elbows on his knees. 

“No! Well, maybe. Maybe. Peter I totally skipped the young and fun thing. I haven’t been to a party since highschool.” 

“So go to a party,” Peter waves a dismissive hand and touches the spine of his book. 

“I can’t just go to a party, and be young, and stupid, and get drunk with strangers.” Stiles rubs his hands through his hair, closing his cardigan better with one arm to keep the chill of the room away. “Can I?” 

Peter makes a noise that says he’s losing interest quickly. 

“I can’t. I mean I can’t even do the whole - like dancing with strangers, and flirting with whatever looks at me thing. You know? I can’t go make-out at a college party. I can’t do the college party _thing._ I skipped being single in my twenties, what the hell.” Stiles paces. It’s not that he’d trade even a second with Peter but this was an unforeseen happening of getting together with a grown man at eighteen and playing house ever since. 

“Erica isn’t single - she’s enjoying herself,” Peter points out. 

“Yeah but Boyd goes to parties with her - Would you go to a college party with me?” 

“Lord no,” Peter raises a declining hand and shifts back into the sofa with a contemplative look. He hums, brow popping up before he taps his fingers against his book cover. “What about a free pass?” 

Stiles pivots, squinting over at Peter and making a rolling hand gesture at him for him to elaborate. 

“One free pass, one party - do what you’d like, with whomever you’d like. No questions.” Peter has a dangerous smirk on his mouth.

There’s nothing about that that sounds like Peter Possessive Hale would agree to let alone _suggest_. Stiles makes a face and comes to kneel on the sofa cushion beside Peter. Hands catching on the wolf’s thigh and squeezing. “No questions… seriously?” 

“No questions.” Peter’s expression smooths, he’s got that lilt to his voice that says he knows more than he’s saying. That he’s plotting. 

“So I could blow ten frat boys and you’d be chill,” Stiles presses, fingers squeezing into Peter’s leg as he tilts his head at him. 

“That’s ambitious.” 

“Shut up, answer me,” Stiles shakes his leg.

Peter sighs, reaching up and cupping Stiles’ nape in his hand to drag him forward and kiss him on the mouth lightly. “If it’s an experience you want to have, darling. You’re only twenty one once.” 

Stiles’ phone chirps a few more times between them. “I’m not going to cheat on you,” the idea makes him feel queasy and he leans in to the hand on his neck. “C’mon Peter.”

“It wouldn’t be,” Peter thumbs at his hairline, studying his face with that pensive look of his before his smirk goes deep enough to flash his teeth. “Text Erica, go meet them. See what happens.”  
  
There’s a swoop in Stiles’ belly, he almost reaches to press his hand into his abdomen but he grips at Peter’s thigh harder instead. “You’re being serious.”

“Deadly,” Peter promises and kisses him again. Warm mouth, soft stubble, a little purr that he parts with. 

“One free pass,” Stiles repeats, mollified. 

“One free pass.” 

##  Saturday 10:47 PM

“Stiles!” Erica is grinning from ear to ear as she wraps him in a wallop of a hug and rubs her entire body against him. 

“Yeah,” Stiles wheezes, squeezing her back and holding his bottle of vodka aloft and away from her. Peter had picked it out of their cupboard for him, there’s a roll of condoms and a few packets of lube in his pocket that were similarly gifted. 

Boyd raises a red solo cup at him and then reaches forward to lightly untangle Erica, she curls up into his side instead and smirks. 

“Glad you came,” She’s got sweat smudged eyeliner and her lipstick is just a little washed off where her lips part. 

Stiles fidgets as he looks around the entryway of the house and then back out the door to give Peter one last wave before his boyfriend drives off and leaves him to party. 

“One free pass,” Stiles mumbles to himself as he looks around at the swaths of warm bodies and then lets himself relax. 

Erica catches his wrist and drags him to the kitchen, the music in the house vibrates into his bones, it’s over warm. He ties his flannel around his hips when they get to the cups station. He puts his booze on a counter next to a load of other bottles after he’s poured himself a nights worth of vodka into his big solo cup. He tops it off with coke and someone’s redbull. 

“Ready,” he declares. 

Boyd laughs at him when he wheezes at the strength of his own drink and they migrate back to where a couch has been pushed out of the way and people are bouncing to the heavy trap music. 

“Can’t believe Peter let you come alone,” Erica laughs at him, slapping at his arm as he tips his cup against his mouth. 

“Let me?”

“Yeah, you know, he’s so insecure.” 

Stiles knocks his head back and laughs, it burns and his eyes are a little wet with it as he shakes his head at her. The idea of that is so completely _impossible_. 

## Sunday 12:06 AM

Stiles is more than halfway through with his cup, he feels the booze in his blood. In his head. His tongue is almost numb with it. He tips his head back and cackles as he sinks another shot at the beer pong table, swaying as he takes a deep drink and reaches over to high five his partner. 

He doesn’t know the guy - not really - but he’s pretty sure he’s seen him around town. Or maybe up at campus. Stiles doesn’t know, it doesn’t matter. 

“That’s a win - you wanna go again?” Brad, Bret? Brian. Brain asks him with a warm hand on his back and a friendly smile. 

“Nah,” Stiles shakes his head and leans his hip on the table. He feels good. His body sways to the music that invades every room of the place and he lifts his cup to cheers the air at Bruan. “I’m gonna find my friends.”

“I think they’re in the closet,” Bruno says with a gesture to one of the hall closets off the front doorway. There’s a thump that makes the door rattle. He snorts and drinks out of a beer bottle, his eyes are a little glossy. His hand firms up and stays on Stiles’ waist. 

“You wanna dance?” Stiles asks, chugging a few more gulps of his drink. The vodka burns up through his nose and he gasps, shaking his face out while Brick laughs at him. 

“Sure.” 

Brandon’s body is firm, his shoulders narrower than the ones Stiles is used to leaning on. His hands are smaller than Peter’s where they squeeze his waist and pull him back against a hard stomach. 

There’s a curl of something fluttery and uncomfortable, Stiles looks around the room, looks up and over his shoulder at Buck before he decides it’s alright. It feels good. Heat against his body, a rhythm to move to. 

“One free pass,” he mumbles and twists to press himself front-ways against Brody. His hand comes up and tangles into black hair at the nape of the dude’s neck and he grins. They dance for a few songs. Stiles cup gets lighter and lighter until it’s empty and falling from his sweaty fingers. 

## Sunday 3:39 AM

“Stiles we’re going home,” Erica leans over him, patting at his face with the tips of her fingers to rouse him from where he’d been half asleep. There’s still music and laughter coming from down stairs. 

“Yeah, Peter’s going to pick me up,” Stiles assures, is he slurring? He shakes his head a bit, his chest is warm, there’s sweat between his shoulder blades and he grinds himself forward into the heat between his thighs. His face feels stiff, he rubs at his cheeks and finds they’re a little damp. 

“... Okaaay,” Erica drags slowly, her gaze flickering from Stiles to the man he’s got under him on the sofa of an upstairs games room. “Well, looks like you’re in good hands.” 

Stiles feels a shift under himself and grunts, clutching an empty beer bottle in his hands and nursing off the top as he stares at the room and then back down. It’s dark, he can’t really make out the man under him. He gathers up a handful of shirt and sways where he tries to sit up.

He should text Peter. Will he be mad? He must smell like so many people. Stiles shrugs and grips at the man underneath him, resting his chin down on a hot shoulder as he sighs. A big hand reaches up and squeezes his waist, pulls him closer, there’s a thick thigh sliding up between his own, it supports his weight and keeps him from slipping sideways off the couch. 

“One free pass,” Stiles mutters and then sighs as he lets the bottle roll loosely out of his hand onto the floor and he grips harder at the man under him. 

## Sunday 11:25 AM

“Uh, you need to leave,” some guy wearing sunglasses, holding a garbage bag, tells him while looming over the side of the bed Stiles is sprawled on. His mouth is a scowl to the side and he turns away quickly to pick up a few more cups, scattered popcorn and paper towels from the bedroom before he sweeps back out. 

“Shit,” Stiles groans, swaying where he sits up and rubs at his face. His head feels like a construction company is building a highrise behind his eyeballs. “Shit!”

He’s not home. He is not at home. This is not Peter’s apartment. Stiles scrambles for the side of the bed, standing up uncertainly and cringing as he realizes he’s not wearing pants. There’s a spatter of dried _something_ up the front of his shirt. He hops on his toes and looks around as the urge to throw up wells in his throat. 

There’s a rustle from the ensuite bathroom, the sound of the tap turning on, of water splashing and then filling up a cup. 

Stiles scrambles around the room, moving like he’s got ankle weights and the floor is made of molasses. He finds his pants, rummages through the pockets and he shakes them with betrayal and frustration when his phone isn’t there. 

The pounding in his head amplifies and Stiles feels acid in his throat before he’s ducking for the bathroom. “Sorry,” he gags at the body he has to half shove out of his way, and into the counter, to get to the toilet. 

He wants Peter and soda crackers. 

“One free pass, bullshit.” Stiles hunches and makes a face. The bastard probably planned this. 

Probably picked the vodka out specifically for its hangover inducing properties. Probably devised this whole thing to teach him a lesson. Peter wasn’t above manipulation - he must have had this whole thing devised to make him sick and guilty. 

“Bastard,” Stiles shakes his fist in the general direction of not the toilet before he’s bent over it. 

“Usually,” a smooth voice says from above him before a hot hand is rubbing slow, very nice, circles against his heaving back. Stiles eyes water so much that he has to blink a few times before the swimming vision of his favourite werewolf appears. 

“Peter!” Stiles groans, his hands latching over onto Peter’s leg before a glass of water is pushed under his chin and he’s forced to rinse with it. He takes a drink after and nuzzles his face against Peter’s leg. 

“So, my party animal,” Peter smirks as he pets Stiles’ hair down. “Have fun?” 

“Screw you-” Stiles mutters as he comes to a wobbly stand and cradles himself into Peter’s open arms. “Fine. Maybe I _like_ being middle aged with you.”

“I am _not-”_ Peter huffs but he cuts off when he has to weave away to avoid the kiss Stiles is trying to give him. “Not until you deal with - all of this.” Peter makes an encompassing gesture and Stiles scowls at him but concedes with a shrug. 

“Take me home - I want to watch House Hunters and eat soup,” Stiles decides as he rubs at his sore eyes and goes to put on his jeans. 

“Alright, sweetheart.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly this whole thing was a style experiment. I just liked the idea of Stiles wearing a cardigan and feeling old before his time and Peter always showing up for Stiles. 
> 
> Not sure I'm actually ~happy~ with this piece overall but eh. I also don't think I want to tinker with it anymore just get the bunny out. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> I'm working on a part two of Peter's POV tho, so lmk if that would be interesting?


End file.
